The Many Shadows of Blaine Anderson
by Cloud Green
Summary: Jealous ex-boyfriend, mysterious and dangerous night-time stranger, sadistic kidnapper - Blaine can be anything. Poor Kurt doesn't stand a chance. Dark Klaine ficlets: A collection of dark!Blaine victim!Kurt drabbles and one-shots ranging in length and extremities. Warning inside
1. Reconvene on the Dancefloor

A.N. Welcome to another new story – I mean, collection of single-chapter fics. I'm sort of cheating with this assortment of one-shots because it means I only need to update when there's a new short ditty ready. I write all the time and occasionally I'll be left with a crumby scene that doesn't warrant a story to itself but I don't want to just forget about it. That is what this is: dark!Blaine drabbles. In some, Blaine will be a jerk – an example being this first chapter. He might also be playing a part, like in the future update 'In The Basement'. He might even be downright sadistically evil as he is in future update 'Indulgence'. They will vary in extremities. Some fics will be long and some (like this one) will be short – I only start with this tiny one to get the ball rolling. Next in the ficlets I think I'll upload 'Come Home' then an edited version of 'Indulgence' if I can manage to make it Fanfiction dot net safe. If you want to read about future one-shot updates, you can find info on my profile. As I've said before, I write this type of Glee genre because I enjoy it but I still hope others can get some entertainment out of it too.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. If I did, there would be a super-cool smash up of Glee and American Horror Story and The New Normal. ...Oh my gosh, that would be AWESOME.

Warnings: Do not read if you are offended/uncomfortable with ANY of the following: swearing, violence, sexual scenes, extreme violence and/or sexual scenes, abuse in any form. I've only had a couple of flames and both were as a result of readers not paying attention to the warnings and reading only to discover they did not like the content. A couple of the later ficlets are particularly nasty so please, for the love all that is good in this awful world, turn back now if you feel this might not be for you.

Right, now that's out the way: Please read, enjoy and review! 

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Reconvene on the Dancefloor

(( Dark!Blaine level: Mild (Jerk Blaine) )) 

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I knew something was wrong the second I heard Chandler calling my name. I continued dancing with Luke but I listened intently as my friend shouted over the music and into my ear 'Kurt! He's here! I'm...I'm gonna head home, you coming?'

I stared on at my dancing partner and then shook my head. Behind me, Chandler sighed. And he then left.

_Screw him_, I thought - and I wasn't thinking about Chandler. I was thinking about the _reason_ Chandler was leaving the club early. There was no way I was going to leave for that asshole. I came to Scandals before we started dating and I planned to continue coming now after we had broken up. It bothered me that my best friend had been spooked into leaving by him and I was determined not to let the same person scare me into running also. I wrapped my arms securely around the oblivious Luke's neck and the boy happily came closer. I let our foreheads press together and I distracted myself by focusing on his bulky, sweaty shoulders that sent my arms in every direction as they slid over them. I knew at that point, if the night continued as it was, I would probably sleep with him.

Then, _he _appeared.

I felt a second pair of arms slink around my waist. In a club like Scandals such an action was commonplace but I knew it was him: those arms were firm, unmovable and were pulling at me. If it were just another horny dancer he would be trying to get involved with both Luke and I, not trying to separate us. I pulled on my dance partner in an attempt to fight those arms off, but even the eager Luke was not strong enough to stop _him_ dragging me back. I watched in foolish shock as Chad and David stepped in out of nowhere and crowded around him. For a moment I was fearful for my now _ex_-dance partner but I remembered that David was not one of those violent henchmen. He was a lover; not a fighter. Luke disappeared in the crowd and the last I saw was his upset-confusion transform into surprised pleasure. No, Luke would probably not come looking for me for a while if Chad and David and there skillful hands had anything to say about it.

That left me to deal with the true perpetrator alone. I looked down at his clasped hands which kept his arms tight around my waist. I tried to wrestle them apart but they didn't let up. I stumbled backwards into him feeling nervous and ill. Perhaps I should have left with Chandler after all, screw all that bullshit about maintaining dignity and standing up for myself. I never wanted to be in this position.

'Mmm, baby, you smell so sweet...' I heard him murmur in my ear. He was still pulling me backwards and soon my scrambling feet left the dance floor and I found myself thrust up against the back wall opposite the bar. There was no one else around us, I noticed, as I was forced to finally meet his eyes. He was drunk. Why was I not surprised? His eyes were watery and ever-so-slightly red. But they were focused: focused on me. His hands were pressed against the wall, trapping me between his arms and forcing me to feel his body as it eased against mine. 'You're so goddamn sexy tonight.' He told me. His warm hazel eyes gazed into mine and for a brief moment I wanted him back. But only for a moment, then sanity returned.

'Blaine, get off.' I told him firmly. 'You're drunk and I don't want to talk to you - I just came here to dance.' He smiled at me and then dipped his head to kiss me. I quickly turned my head to the side and shoved at his chest roughly. 'Stop it! Seriously, Blaine, leave me alone!'

His lips found my cheek and he seemed to barely register that instead of my lips he was now steadily beginning to suck at my jawbone. When I felt him move to my neck, I tried pushing him again. This time he grabbed my wrists and pulled them out of the way. 'Why are you being like this? You know I've missed you. I've missed you so fucking much, babe...'

'I'm not your _babe_, anymore.' I snapped. At last he seemed to listen. He tilted his head and considered me like I was speaking some language close to English but still foreign enough for him not to get it. 'We broke up. Remember? That means I get to dance with other people and you have no right-' I give my wrists a rapid shake and his alcohol-clumsy grip falls off them. 'to cut in. Now, if you don't mind...'

I moved to step by him but he grips onto my shirt, as I expected he would, but I hadn't prepared myself for his lips attacking mine so soon after his first attempt which is why he succeeded in forcing a kiss out of me. His fingers gripped my sides and pinned me against the wall. I struggled with him but it began to hurt. At last, he ceased kissing me and growled against my mouth 'I mind... I don't want you dancing with other guys, Kurt. I don't want anyone else touching you.'

'_I'm not yours anymore, Blaine!_' I cried out in anger-bordering-on-panic. The last time he made me feel this vulnerable I ended up unconscious so I was more than justified to feel such fear. I shoved him off completely this time and he stumbled back a couple of feet. It hurt to look at him properly now; he wore the same dark navy turtleneck sweater I bought him when we went shopping in Columbus (an article of clothing not overly appropriate for the sweaty club atmosphere) and his hair was product free just as I always insisted looked best on him. He stumbled back to me and locked me in his tight embrace, burying his nose into my neck and letting his hands roam up and down my shivering back like I might just disappear if he wasn't careful. Fat chance - I had been wanting to disappear for a few minutes now and it didn't seem to be working for me.

I knew I couldn't push him off again with him locked around me so firmly, so I just concentrated on not encouraging him. I tensed up and remained unresponsive. Perhaps he would get bored? I was fooling no one... 'I love you - miss you so much... Think about you all the time...need you. Please-' I squeezed my eyes shut as he began grinding into me. I could feel his tongue drawing across every inch of skin he could reach and the wet sucking sounds were loud in my ears despite the club music still pounding away. I knew he wanted to fuck me - that was a given - but there was something more. I guessed it was just plain missing me as I had in many ways been missing him, only I had more reason to dismiss such feelings.

_He's a monster, he's a monster, he's a fucking monster who will kill you - don't let him get to you again, you moron!_

'Blaine, please...' I bit my lip as my voice broke.

He lifted his head and kissed me dead on the mouth. Unlike before, this kiss was not sloppy. He tasted of sweet-honey laced with smoky alcohol. Trust him to actually taste the essence of sex even when drunk. His tongue softly invited itself into meet mine and it coaxed it into a dance. There was something about his confident tongue which always made me sizzle in excitement. He made me feel like some priceless artwork that needed so much delicate care but then he could twist around and cause me to turn to a shivering wreck like his tongue was fucking me and I had no say. He mastered me, gently tilting my chin so he could explore me to his heart's content. I let him because my willpower and sense of reasoning seemed to have run off temporarily, like Chandler had. I wasn't aware of him stopping; only that the world vaguely came back into view and we were panting softly against each other's wet lips. He was still grinding into me with his fingers clutching at my waist to hold it in place.

'Stop.' I whispered. And he did. What's more, he slowly let go of me and gradually stepped back. I felt cold and very, very alone pressed against the wall. My arms instinctively wrapped around my chest. He stared at me as if considering some puzzle and then he smiled.

_You still belong to me. You know it. I want you and you want me, and in the end it's going to be just us. _

I glared at him and he just smiled back at me. He was a dick. An asshole. A piece of shit. And I hated that he won. Angry at myself, I stormed past him and was not at all surprised when he didn't move to stop me. I had to get out of here and fortunately I was the designated driver of the night, so however Chandler managed to get home it did not matter to me. I fished the keys out of my pocket and made a bee-line for the exit only barely remembering to pick up my jacket from the stand on the way out. 

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A.N. Short and, by my standards, quite innocent. Hopefully a good way to start. Please review or PM, especially if there's a ficlet you'd like to see sooner rather than later.


	2. Come Home

A.N. Well I give a warm thanks to readers and reviews for part one of the ficlet series. It is incredible getting a response to something new so fast! Happy to know it's being enjoyed – that's why I upload it. This update is something new I'm trying out. I consider this 'short and not-so-sweet' told mainly through letter-form. Sometimes a hand-written letter can make all the difference, and I think Blaine new that when he could not stand to be apart from Kurt any longer.

Replies:

DarkGreenForest4: Thank you! Glad you liked the opening. Indulgence should be the next update and I won't be changing anything major. I might have to edit out some parts that are too 'detailed' but honestly I might get lazy and risk uploading it as it is. I've read worse dark!Klaine so I'd hope that putting it as chapter 3 means that people who don't like it will be kind enough to just let it be instead of complaining. Did you like Indulgence? I hope so – I wrote it when I felt very...dark.

MrsMusicAddict: I don't know if I'm overreacting when I say the 3rd part is bad because Funny Games I and II certainly brought out a darker side of me so maybe it's not too shocking. Essentially, Indulgence is a scene with kidnapper!Blaine and tiedup!Kurt. Lots of physical stuff but also mental torture in a way. I have it on a site that has really relaxed content rules so uploading it here makes me nervous in case someone complains about it being too dark. But...as I said, Funny Games was bad! :P Yeah, Blaine was an angel in the first part and this chapter is probably a little boring but I promise evil Blaine will come back! I swear a cyber-blood oath to you! 

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Come Home

(( Dark!Blaine level: Hinted dom/violence (post-abusive Blaine) )) 

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Hands trembled as fingers smoothed over the folded up papers. The envelope was already in the trash. Eyes darted over the paragraphs blindly taking in random words and odd phrases but finally they returned to the top. _Dear Kurt._ The heartbeat grew faster, sweatdrops began to form. He knew who this was from – it didn't take a genius. With no other option, he began reading. 

_Dear Kurt,_

_Come home. Baby, you know I'm dying without you. I lie alone in the dark wishing you were with me. I miss stroking your hair and kissing your neck. I miss the taste of your soft lips and the sounds you make when you want me to hold you. I just want you back. Please, stop this whole thing now. I understand you got scared, Kurt, really I do but this has gone on far too long. I know you get what I mean, I can tell you miss me too. You wouldn't have started reading this if you didn't._

_I know what's holding you back and it is not me. It's him. You let that new boyfriend of yours fill your head of talks of abuse and neglect and that makes me very disappointed in you. You once said that you didn't want to tell your friends the truth because they wouldn't understand. You said that the love you and I share is unique and unbound by conventional ideals typically associated with relationships, and you were right. We were taught that we would grow up and meet someone special and that person would be cherished in our hearts, but what they didn't tell us was the different forms love could take. When everyone else holds matchsticks we burn forests. When others have sparklers, we have fireworks. If they could even remotely comprehend how insignificant and pathetic their own feelings are in comparison to ours they would be tearing us apart out of jealousy. However they just don't get it, so they keep us apart with some false sense of heroism. And you've let him worm his way into your head, messing with it and making promises you really don't want him to make. You could never want him the way he wants you and you know the only reason you stay is out of some sense of guilt because he happened to be there on the one occasion I couldn't be._

_Did I ever hurt you, Kurt? And I don't mean the occasional cut and bruise which heal in a matter of days. Did I ever actually hurt you? If I did, would you have come back to me the way you did? Of course you wouldn't have; you are no fool, Kurt Hummel, and you recognized your place was with me. At my side. In my bed. Under my body. You were meant for me, and I you. Everything about me is solely for you and only you can make me work. I went too far that night, I admit that now. I always prided myself in knowing your limits and I stupidly ignored them when you said those things. But please understand my actions, though inexcusable and cruel, were due to the continuous provoking of you and him. Yes, he said similar things to me prior to that night which is why I know you let your head be filled with his lies. It was all a mistake. I would never intentionally cause you pain because you are part of me. You are my everything. You have no idea how much suffering I have to endure every second you continue to be with him but I know that you will finally see the truth and return. That is why this letter is meant, not to convince you, but to calm your beating heart with a sense of loving relief knowing when the time comes I will be waiting and ready to take you in my arms again, no questions asked._

_I know how it must feel to be with him; sickening. Don't pretend it isn't true, Kurt, but also do not misunderstand what I mean. Yes, you went to him because he cared and because he shows you compassion and something very close to love (but not real love). He thought about you and looked out for you. If it weren't for his stealing you away I might have actually admired him for his nature and thoughts despite it not being his place do have such feelings. He is handsome but blank; like a grand canvas lacking any source of personality to fit yours. He is kind and gentle, but you crave a strong hand. Don't be ashamed enough to deny it; I could tell the moment I first laid eyes on you with your eyes on me. Your big blue eyes, so full of innocence and purity, begged me to take hold of you. I don't think I ever fully explained this to you, Kurt, but since that moment I knew there would be no one else in my life who could take your place. At that time I didn't even know your name but I knew you belonged to me. I kept my composure but my heart was crying in joy to have found you. When I touch you, your skin burns and sets you on fire. When he touches you, you feel empty and cold. When he says your name it sounds so monotone but when I say it you shiver. I know you do, because I've felt it. And when he stands in front of you holding your hands your world is drained of colour and one-dimensional. How can you stand to live in such a world? Don't you miss our world? It's still here, Kurt, and it's waiting for you. I'm waiting for you._

_But that's the thing, Kurt. I'm patient. I am so very, very patient. I will wait because I know you and I know what you want and what you need. Sooner or later you are going to realize that as much as you may want and as hard as others may try, you cannot be alive without me. Call it a shared notion; I know you are in pain because I feel it too. So come home, baby. Let me cradle your confused head til it's clear, and let me take you to bed to rekindle the passion others have striven to stamp out. I'm not going to chase you anymore; it is time for you to come to me. Come home and let's put this all behind us. I will take care of you and I promise that I will not be angry. I cannot stay mad at you, especially when I miss you so much. I'm waiting, Kurt, and I will continue to wait. Because I am patient. I love you._

_Come home, Kurt. Now._

And he did. He must have. Adam found himself with no more pages to read, though it wasn't likely he could have stomached any more even if there were. The letter had been abandoned on the dresser at some point whilst he was out, and it had been the only thing out of place when he returned home. Well, that was until he realised Kurt was gone.

His coat. His wallet. His bags... What little Kurt brought with him when he fled to Adam's apartment all those weeks ago was gone. All he left behind was empty space and this letter. This _damn_ letter. Adam couldn't be sure how it got into his precious Kurt's hands, but it did and it had succeeded in its job. _Come home. Now._ Adam ran for the door and raced down to the streets outside with the slim hope of perhaps catching up or hailing a cab and race ahead to stop Kurt from going inside that bastard's home. But in his heart he knew he was already too late. Kurt had gone home, and once he got there the claws would sink in and they would not come out again. _Home sweet home_, Adam thought bitterly with tears stinging his eyes, _home sweet-fucking-home._

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A.N. Thank you for reading this shorty-fic, the next update (Indulgence) will be longer and hopefully ready to be added within the next few days. Please subscribe to get e mail alerts and drop a comment or two before you go!


	3. Indulgence

A.N. So I was reading through this in my editing stage and finally decided to more or less give it to you as I wrote it a year and a half ago. I've changed a little but nothing major. I am putting a warning here because the last two chapters have been 'sunshine and daffodils' compared to what I typically write and even though most readers know me well enough by now to not be shocked by this piece, I need to still tell new readers that I'm known for my sex-heavy, sadistic Blaine scenes at times and this is one of those scenes. I will admit, though, that I am sort of proud of this due to the Kurt monologue throughout and it's perhaps the only chapter I've written that I felt was any good. (Wow, if you hate it I'm going to feel like a moron now haha!)

So: please enjoy it. If you hate it or think it too graphic then my apologies but do not think I did not give you an out.

Replies:

DarkGreenForest4: Ah you've read Indulgence! Well, nothing really has changed because it's hard to edit out parts so crucial to Kurt's emotions. I'm planning out a couple of versions of FG III and I'll start writing when I have a solid plan complete. I don't want to say when I'll be ready but I'll probably try and get a few fics out the way that have been on the backburner for a long time.

SpecsO-O: All I'm gonna say is that every time you comment I always laugh out loud. It makes me happy, though I guess I should feel guilty for adding so much fuel to your Blaine-hate. Naaa, it makes me happy when you say things like ' I'm glaring at the wall pretending it's Blaine fucking Anderson.' =D

Megan: Hey Megan! So glad you like it so far. I've read some really great dark!Blaine fics but I've not had the chance to put together a shortlist. I'll do some homework and give you my top recs – for me it's all about the scene atmosphere. You can have Blaine say and do nasty things to Kurt but when there's a sense of Blaine-control and darkness unspoken it just makes it enjoyable.

MrsMusicAddict: I await your verdict: is this chapter enough to make up for the two sort-of boring first chapters (in terms of dark!Blaine)? Do I get cookies now? I'm taking your advice: upload it as it is and change it if I think there's enough hate for it. Like I said before, though, I'm wondering if I over-reacted when I claimed it to be super-bad. I wrote it in late-2012 and since then I've written other Klaine at a similar level. Yup, letters like the one in 'Come Home' freakin' work. I read one from Adam's kind of viewpoint when my sibling was coaxed back into an awful relationship and it always stuck with me how different people will view the same letter. Pfffft, I would love to read one of your letters. How did you get out of doing tests on certain days? Screw them. I believe you, and if you're lying that just makes you more like Blainers so it's a win-win situation for you. Blaine is awesome when he's manipulative. ;) 

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Indulgence

( Dark!Blaine level: Strong (Kidnapper/Tormentor Blaine) ) 

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The door opens with the quietest of creaks and I fall out of the numb lull I had struggled to put myself in. My head is turned away from him as he enters but I still see him; his shadow – an inky black silhouette within a rectangular glow of yellow light – goes still when he pauses under the threshold. A few moments later the door is closed and the latch clicks into place. With the effects of the hallway light now gone; the only source of illumination stems from the moonlight which pours in through the bedroom window. I can feel his eyes on me. They desecrate every inch of my restrained naked body without offering a shred of dignity to cling onto. My muscles tense but as usual the straps binding my wrists and ankles only bring about strained pain. So I simply stare at the bare wall, the one that doesn't hold the hopeful view of a window, and try to drone out every other sense but I'm not foolish enough to believe I will be successful. I can hear the almost silent padding of his feet as he finally crosses the room. I stay still; my muscles clench quietly once more and my eyes begin to water in fear and with my sheer focus on the now blurry wall.

I don't start thrashing until I feel the mattress dip slightly as he climbs on. At first my motions are unhindered – sometimes he likes to simply enjoy my hysteria with his presence alone – but eventually I feel his grip on me and I am defeated with the knowledge that he could overpower me in any given scenario with or without the bonding straps around my limbs. I can't look at him. His calming expression never fails to make me feel sick to my stomach at how _normal_ this is to him. Even in the beginning there wasn't an ounce of shame hiding behind his hungry gaze.

I resolve to twist my body as far as it will go under his control and bury my face into the tear-soaked pillow. He will not let me escape for long but for now his attention is focused elsewhere. I take solace when the opportunity is given me, using the darkness to block out the slender fingers running up the inside of my thighs. I catch my breath as they play around my crotch before gliding up over my stomach and ribs, coaxing for a reaction. I accidently give him one. I shudder and an unmistakable cry escapes my throat and can be heard through the pillow. The air heats up and I can feel the smirk etching out across his face. He doesn't want my mind to desire this, but he revels in the idea that my body does and betrays me for him. He has succeeded many times before now, each instance violating my heart worse than before, but the last time he tried he had failed. I defied him. And he hates me for it.

My feathery mental fortress is swiped out from beneath my head. He makes me watch as he pummels his fist into my pillow. Once. Twice. He then tosses it aside like a predator viciously discarding of the worthless carcass of his prey. It hits the bare wall hard and slides down to lie dead on the floor. He makes me watch so I remember how 'lucky' I am. I am indeed a lucky boy; he repeatedly tells me of his fantasies in which he slowly tears me apart, piece by literal piece, until he is climaxing in a bed of flesh and blood. I know he does not lie; I see the way his eyes dissect me. But I am a 'lucky boy'. After all, here I am under the hand of a blood-thirsty, self-proclaimed sadist with the self-control of a saint. I believe that. He's practically angelic.

He is slow to lean over me. His eyes have captured my own and they were not letting them stray. His hands slide up my arms until his fingers intertwine with mine. Now we are nose to nose. I can hear just how rapid and uneven my breathing is and it is almost embarrassing next to his relaxed, measured intakes. The familiar smell of his sweet, creamy musk invades my nostrils. The first time I ever experienced his scent, it was as if my mind had been doped up beyond the realm of pleasure and my gut seemed to curl up in what I later discovered was sexual arousal. But now the smell, although viciously alluring, stirs up all the memories and my insides curl in a very different way. I have a feeling he's talking to me now but like a deer caught in headlights there is nothing I can do but stare into the delicately cruel eyes. I can feel small puffs of air ghost over my lips as he murmurs and it takes all my will power not to lick them moist again; he doesn't need any extra encouragement from me. His gaze steels and I realise whatever words he spoke had been in the form of a question. He had asked me something and was now expecting – demanding – an answer. My heart pounds painfully as my nerves jolt into panic. He's waiting. My mouth opens; no sound comes to my aid. He's growing impatient. The only reaction my body offers now come in the form of tears. They cascade down my cheeks; each drop considered closely by him as they stain my skin and eventually drop off and land on the sheets underneath us.

It's not clear if he understands exactly why I am so anxious but he does me the honour of repeating himself. 'What game shall we play tonight, baby?'

My breathing catches several times before I can answer. That bothers him. His hand clutches my upper throat and chin, his nails digging deep enough I feel skin breaking. I cry out and he smiles. He tells me he's going to show me my own limits, before throwing me beyond them. He promises he will make me scream louder than he ever has before. He swears that he will make my body convulse only for his touch. He will make me beg for him. What's more, I continue to believe him. Rarely does he fail in his vows.

The heat from his body is soon stolen from me as he moves off, and my attempts to hug myself for warmth is short-lived as my shackles maintain their influence. I plead for everything and nothing, twisting my head back and forth as if doing it enough times will make it all go away. It worked once, but sadly he had not appreciated my head hitting off the bedside table which knocked me out cold. It was a lesson learned and not only has the table been moved further out, I have also been positioned more central on the bed. No nasty unintentional accidents for me today.

'Ah!' The gasp comes out of pure shock as the surprisingly warm lotion is squirted up the length of my body. He takes care to make sure every inch of me is well saturated through the expert use of his hands. I cannot pretend his hot touch doesn't settle my ice-like skin, but there was still so much loathing in my soul at how easily he claims me. His fingers curl into each curve and massage into vulnerable spots known to cause me to whine. He is not disappointed with me, but I am. Palming my shy member is an unfair move on his part; the lotion creates a smooth and slippery surface under his grip and, before I can do anything to prevent it, blood rushes to the lavished area and has me twitching like each touch is a flash of electricity. His dry chuckle seems to echo in my ears and disgrace washes over me. I want to scream out that no matter what he does to me, he will never have what he truly wants. He will never have my soul. I want to make him understand…but that involves indulging him in speech and I never want to make such a mistake again. When I talk, he makes me cry. When I cry, he makes me plead. When I plead, he makes sure I know how useless it is. It feeds his ego and his cravings but it kills me inside. Part of my soul falls off into nothingness and I am forced to admit that he does indeed hold some level of power over my soul, and he crushes it each time I attempt to resuscitate it.

'Does it feel good, Kurt?'

Why must he torment me like this? I bite my bottom lip and refuse to issue another peep. He is not deterred in the slightest and I feel the mattress shift again as he moves to loosen the straps around my ankles. Despite receiving a measure of freedom - and a relief from the stretching sensation which had been causing my muscles immense agony – I will myself not to move an inch. He never eases my pain without an ulterior motive and it does not take long to realise what his motive is. He kisses the markings imprinted around my ankles which thankfully are still too numb to react. Only when his tongue begins its journey up the inside of my left leg do I attempt to pull away. His hand pushes down on my thigh and he deliberately slows so I must feel every lap, every lick, until his nose nudges my cock. I'm given a reprieve when he moves up to my mouth and forces me to taste him. He must have used a flavoured lotion on me because alongside the usual smouldering hint of smoky vanilla is an overwhelming taste of strawberry. Come to think of it, I can practically smell it radiating off my marinated skin. He moans with loud appreciation as my tongue pleads for some kind of mercy. It is a foolish bid but I rarely act on my own accord anymore. I utter out a stifled sob when he finally moves down again to sample the rest of me.

He builds it up. It's a cruel tactic of his, and has never failed to have my body quivering in selfish sexual desire. Over the course of several minutes his hands rub, massage and fondle. I understand the natural concept of the process; someone wanting their lover to experience the height of orgasmic pleasure should indulge every inch of their being down to the very nerve. I learned that many years ago when I first thought I could handle the lessons of intimacy offered through the frank pages of Cosmo. My naivety still shocks me to this day, but at least now I know why he is using the dirty trick on me; he wants me torn between my fundamental principles and my uncontrollable desires. And it's working. His smile is cruel but his hands are accommodating as they smooth over areas causing me to mew. I continue to fight against him but we are both well aware they are futile attempts.

After what seemed like an eternity of emotional torment, he firmly eases my legs apart and kneels between them. Even through his jeans I can feel he is hard. I close my eyes and listen as he unzips and tosses aside his clothing and with a couple of swift motions I feel the all the restraints around my ankles fall away. I swallow roughly. Gripping my hair and pulling my head up, he mocks me with another sweet kiss. There is vague stubble on his face – something I would find irresistible in any other scenario and with any other individual. The mix of strawberry and vanilla do nothing to calm me as my legs are sightlessly lifted up and rested on his shoulders. I move them off instantly but he raises them up again, making sure to dig his nails into me as a warning. I shamefully heed this warning and allow him to manoeuvre me to his heart's content, which he does as he lifts my rear up with ease. I initially gasp in pain as the new position creates an even greater strain on my strapped wrists, but it soon becomes a secondary concern when I feel him pressing up against me.

My eyes, which have been scrunched, shut tightly until this point, bulge open and I stare up at his hungry eyes in utter horror. 'N-no!' I mumble in sheer panic. He hasn't prepared me; my insides will be torn apart.

'Shh…' He leans down again and terrorises me further by letting his dick circle my hole, pressing in slightly each time he places an innocent kiss upon my tear-stricken face. I continue to stutter out 'no, no, no' as he whispers 'It's alright, baby. Shh, don't cry… Do you feel this?' He drags his member up my own. 'I'm already slick. Just looking at you has made me this way. I'm dripping for you. Do you feel it, Kurt?'

I do. I feel his sickly sticky juices merging with the strawberry lotion coating my length. I can only imagine the sight of the essences stringing out between our cocks as they slip and slide across each other. The thought itself makes my stomach turn yet my loin's burn. He continues to whisper sweet yet ineffective assurances my way when he finally drags his tip down my length once more to return to my entrance. I squeeze the muscles around my hole as if I had any control over what Blaine would do next. He senses this. Chuckling, he lightly fingers me, pushing in just to prove to me my efforts are in vain. Then he forces himself inside.

I cannot be sure if it was the severe lack of preparation or simply having my clenched muscles driven to breaking point, but the searing hot agony which pierces through me was beyond my mental comprehension. I cannot scream; my throat closes over and the compressed air in my lungs has my mid raising up close enough for him to lean down and suck on my exposed skin. But he does not. He, too, is unable to speak. I know in hindsight I will be utterly ashamed I caused him to feel so good through my pain. Despite my kicking limbs, he fills me to the hilt and I am impaled on him. I try twisting, I try to make myself relax but it is all too much. I now understand that perhaps all the attention littered upon my body earlier was not simply to enhance pleasure; he had taken me dry and raw before but never before had the pain extended to every nerve and through all my veins. At last my throat gives way and I let out a shriek so strained and shredded I am positive I have destroyed my vocal cords. Above me, he takes in a shuddering breath and releases a loud half moan, half growl. My tortured motions seem to be giving him heaven only enhanced when he begins jerking out and in. His rhythm is unpredictable. His fingernails scrape down my legs causing them to scar deeply. I will later notice them for the first time when they glow red against my white skin.

My wrists ache as I fight against the leather binding but the tearing sensations deep inside would distract me even if my hands were to snap off. His thrusts are merciless, animalistic and relentless. They just keep coming. I have spent most of the last twenty four hours in the darkness of my prison of a bedroom, yet all I could see now is white. No stars, just cruel hot white. I am certain I pass out but only for a moment; he brings me back to life by force. Tears shed and I take no notice. I only regain some sense when he reaches between us and claims my dick with a firm grip. A pitiful shot of pleasure strikes down to my balls and he starts pumping me. All the while, he talks.

'I told you – I told you I'd make you feel this way,' He pants. I can tell he is striving to slow his pace; the concentration and determination is evident in his flushed, sweaty face. His hips move in a rocking fashion causing his dick to push against my insides at almost all angles. Almost all of them. Both of us know he has one final dirty hand to play. His smirk comes closer to my shaking lips and he lets his tongue flick over them possessively. 'Didn't I promise you this? Don't you like it, baby? Don't you like me fucking you?' I whimper and he swallows it in another deep kiss. 'You know you want me… I can make you feel things no one has ever felt before.' He continues to manipulate my body by tickling behind my balls and fisting my length. He can tell by my pleading that I no longer know what I want anymore. The pain within me is still strong but it intensifies the flooding notion of pleasure surging between our bodies.

'Pl-Please…' I whine. Through the field of white in my vision I see his eyes – those warm and adoring eyes I used to love were now cold and mocking but the lust was just as predominant as it had ever been.

'There's just one last thing I need you to do for me.' He rocks himself in to the hilt again and moves his lips to my ear. 'Beg for me, Kurt.'

I am given a mere moment to take in his words before he repositions himself one last time – the dreaded tilt of his hips. He thrusts. He finds the spot he had been saving for this moment; I feel the head of his dick slam against my prostate. My back arches and he scoops his arms around my back to keep me perched and taut but there is no need; for the first time in a very, _very_ long time I grind back into him. He calls out my name, groaning various curse words into my neck as he repeatedly strikes my most vulnerable spot with more and more vigour. I meet him with every blow, and each time he shatters me into a realm of utter ecstasy.

It is then - only then - he gets his wish. 'P-please-! Blaine, please fuck me-! I w-want you, please – oh God, yes!' I cry out in sheer desperation. I can't stop it anymore. Deep within my heart my loathing has never felt so strong for him but something else has taken hold of me. I feel no shame now because my words succeed in gaining his approval. His lips turn up as his eyes flash; he is sure to reward me.

My blood is pumping through my veins, my dick throbbing against his chest until I begin to scream that I am coming. He takes hold of my length one more time, crushing it. It was excruciatingly gratifying. Our lips come together in a wet sloppy manner but all I want is for more of him. He gives himself freely. Our breathing is hectic as we share gulps of heated air until he pulls back far enough to pant 'S-so close…come with me, Kurt. Fuck, just come for me…' Despite every inch of what was left of my sanity, I comply wholeheartedly. I let myself go and instantly experience the indescribable heights of sexual pleasure. My world disappears and for many moments I am lost in stunned ecstasy. Unintentionally I also clench my torn insides around him which is the final push before he too reaches his climax and spills his red-hot release deep within me. I feel myself fill up as he calls out my name. I cannot comprehend it all. Every inch of me is pulsating; even the rock-hard dick inside me seems to throb. His mouth finds mine after our screaming comes to an end – I hadn't noticed my own voice until this moment – and he claims me one last time before gently settling me back down onto the bed.

I'm overwhelmed with dizziness. The room spins and my legs fall uselessly off his shoulders as I suck in as much air as my lungs allow. Looming over me, my captor takes in my wrecked appearance. He, too, is spent but for him there was still a lot to revel in. He had succeeded in his mission and now, as his gaze runs the length of my quivering frame, I know this is all a game to him. I've always known, I suppose, but it doesn't lessen the aching feeling in my heart when I realise I had been broken again so easily. I was supposed to be stronger than that.

I have started to cry as the sea of shame washes over me once more with a vengeance. I feel his member slide out and fall on top of mine. He's hot and wet, and he tarnishes my already guilt-ridden body further by gathering cum currently leaking from my ass – _Fuck! It stings so bad in my torn wounds _- and spreading it out across my skin. I turn away, but he is having none of it. With his free hand he takes hold of my chin again and forces his wet fingers into my mouth. I squeal but I know what I must do. Blinded once again by unshed tears, I suck them clean.

Satisfied, he gets up onto his knees and practically hops off the bed with smugness. 'The only heart-breaking thought I have,' he starts as he grabs his boxers and begins putting them on, 'is that you will never know just how painstakingly beautiful you look in the throes of passion.' He laughs as I turn away from him. I don't need to hear this now. After securing my ankle straps again, he finishes dressing himself and I try to control my sobs until he leaves. As usual, though, he will not leave without a final kiss. He leans over me once more and captures my lips, humming against my mouth as he takes in the taste of his cum lingering on my tongue. Then, as suddenly as he had entered, he leaves.

I wait until I can no longer hear his retreating footsteps before I let everything out. I wail into the bare mattress - which is now drenched in sweat, tears and other bodily fluids – and pray for the rescue I know will never arrive. After all, why would it? I'm dead to the world now. No one is looking for me because I am no longer considered lost. They have my body – or what they think is my body – in some cemetery, with a headstone engraved with my name and life period which is said to have ended late last year. I know because he showed me with a photograph. The memory makes my weeping body feel sick as I remember his soft, sweet tone from that day. It lulls me into some form of unconsciousness as the words cradle my desecrated mind:

_No one is coming to save you, baby…See? You're dead. Everyone knows it. You only have me now. Only me to hold your hand. Only me to dry your tears. Only me…and you will learn to be grateful. _

* * *

A.N. Sincerely hope you liked it. Please leave a review or PM before you go. =)


	4. They Keep Trying To Leave Me

A.N. I will start off by saying this update was not a planned one but it is related to my 'Zombie' fic idea so it'll do. So, what is this ficlet about? One word: Dahmer. For those who don't know who Jeffery Dahmer was, he is one of America's highest profile serial killers who killed other men from the late 70s to very early 90s. There's a great deal to know about him and I must admit I cannot turn away from documentaries of his crimes. They are just so disturbingly gruesome and sinister that you wonder why someone decided to make a movie out of it. Well, they did. And they called it 'Dahmer'.

Basically I saw the movie years ago and decided to give it another go but within the first 15 minutes I decided to pause the flick and write some dark!Klaine. Go figure. So, yeah. This fic is almost a scene-by-scene shot of the first 15 minutes in which the Dahmer character (ahem, Blaine) manages to ensnare a teenage boy (Kurt) and the horrible things that happened to him. I changed a few things to better suit Glee characters but the main points are there. For those who would like to watch (I think it's an 18 / R rated movie so bear that in mind) I can say that I was able to watch the whole thing on youtube. I love Jeremy Renner and to me he seemed perfect for the part.

Warning: Okay, so all my usual warning still stand (e.g. swearing, sex, violence, evilness etc) but I'm adding a new one: This stuff – though partly dramatised and invented for the film – did actually happen. Young men did die and obviously this fic is not making light of the awfulness but if you think you would be upset or disturbed reading a Klaine fic based on a real man and his murders then please do not read. It's something I understand and if I had not written it I don't know how I would feel about reading it. If you are happy reading it as it is – a dark fanfic with Blaine and Kurt – please continue! I just don't want flames after giving you this much warning!

EDITED WARNING: So within 24 hours of posting this I had a (respectful) bad review, the person saying that I hadn't included 'gore' in the warning therefore he/she had not been prepared for the horribleness of the chapter. Whilst I personally think my warning above was enough (I included violence and evilness - I've written gory parts before so nothing new) I do respect that perhaps other people found a specific part too much and without what they consider an accurate warning. So...once again...just don't read if blood, gore, bad-violent-things-happening-to-good-people upsets you. I don't like knowing I might have upset someone so I'd appreciate potential readers really thinking before choosing to read. To all those who aren't affected by this, I hope you enjoy this chapter. :P

They Keep Trying to Leave Me

* * *

Blaine Devon Anderson was a sweet sort. Quiet and impeccably well presented, the twenty six year old kept himself to himself most of the time. His friendly and considerate nature seemed perfect for Calendar View, the cities tiny and practically abandoned art gallery situated on the top floor of a run-down building above a legal firm office and shut down movie theatre. As the sole custodian and caretaker, he could spend hours there on his own just researching one of the many interest he had, or hum gently as a few stray visitors wandered in and circle the floor as they politely nod in pretend interest when Blaine Anderson softly volunteers little snippets of trivia regarding the Ohio-born artists on display.

It was not a well paid job by any means and someone as well educated as him, with his background in medicine, certainly could have secured far more prominent employment but he was happy. Left to his own devices, he enjoyed his own company. It also gave him a lot of time to think. And plan. The city could only afford to keep the gallery open a few full days each week and on one particular Wednesday lunchtime Blaine was happy to close up shop early. Like most young men, he had a vice; a weakness he could not escape from and in his case it could more accurately be called an addiction. By Wednesday he had resisted satisfying his addiction for more than eight days and he was positively shivering from his abstinence. He took one last patrol around the various rooms out of habit, knowing full well not only had no one come in that day at all but also there was no reasonable desire for anyone to want to hide inside such a place. He then locked up, took the backdoor outside and descended down the fire escape stairs. As he reached the street he realised he needed to make a decision now: bar or mall? He had more success at bars but most of the gay joints were getting suspicious of him so he figured he would have to lay low for a while. Mall it was!

Blaine Anderson caught the subway to the large department store two stops away from his home. The warm and faint mall music welcomed him into the air conditioned foyer, and numerous clerks stood on the verge of their respective stores with smiles beckoning him inside. He ignored them, though, and headed straight to the large _Macy's_ at the very back. No offence to the other retailers but the fish he liked to hook did not normally bite in such small waters. Almost instantly after entering the brightly lit first floor he saw a potential catch. The gentleman stood in his own dream world by a stack of scatter cushions. As Blaine drew closer, he was almost willing to bet the man was gay from his plaid waist coat and precisely combed hair. As usual, he held back and watched. He was glad he did. Out of nowhere, an admittedly cute redhead in a neatly pressed pencil skirt flitted up to him and begged for him to come see some new cleaning product available on special offer. As the happy couple walked away, Blaine frowned. _Okay, not off to a great start_. He wandered up to the second floor to menswear and took a fake interest in some tube socks, all the while scanning the area for men on their own. It then occurred to him that he was not the only one doing so; he himself was currently being checked out by a balding, bespeckled man with a cream sweatshirt draped across his shoulder like some dramatic musical director. The man smiled and issued a wink in Blaine's direction. Blaine, in turn, dropped the socks in his hand and deliberately strode in the opposite direction. There was a huge element of hypocrisy involved turning away from someone doing the exact same thing you were doing but Blaine new that even he – with his addiction strong – had standards. The man clearly gave up on him as when Blaine found himself amongst the many aisles of shoes he was nowhere to be seen. _No commitment, that guy. Doesn't he know you have to just take what you want?_

It was then, as he slumped off towards the dressier shoes, that he saw him. _Him_. There was a thudding feeling in the pit of Blaine's stomach seeing such a human being in the flesh, and it gave Blaine chills from the sight alone. He stared at him and discovered that – _Holy shit!_ – he was nervous. Sure, whenever he was out on the prowl there was an element of danger that kept him alert and on his toes but this was something else. This fear was different.

The young man seemed to be in quite a predicament on his own holding up a couple of pairs of boots in his hands, studying them with torn scrutiny. His chestnut brown hair appeared soft and thick under the light, and ever so lightly styled at the front. The colour of his locks were rich and contrasted in the most beautiful way against his silky pale skin. There was something about his elfish features – tall, pointed ears and straight-yet-slightly-upturned nose – that seemed so perfectly sculpted like he was just some masterpiece created by history's most talented artists. What Blaine would give to have a portrait of this boy to hang pride of place in his galley so he could gaze at it all day long... He shook himself out of his stupor and steeled himself. It occurred to him exactly what this new fear was: he feared failing in capturing this gorgeous being in his net. He had to know who he was. He had to take him home. He had to... He had to satisfy his addiction with this boy's body.

It took all of his willpower to drive him away from this sudden surge of panic but within moments he calmed himself down. This man was just like all the others; nothing special. Blaine looked around. Aside from an elderly man receiving help from an assistant in putting on a raincoat there was no one else around. Blaine moved to the parallel aisle of the one the beauty was in. He casually strolled up and glanced over to the young man as nonchalant as he could. The man looked young, like a teenager. A boy of maybe seventeen with what Blaine could only assume was a schoolbag hanging on his shoulder. Blaine bit his lip and checked his watch. It was a little after four so it made sense for a student to be here when there was a high school not far from the mall. With no parents or obvious friends around, he seemed alone. Blaine had been involved with a nineteen year old before back when his addiction was not nearly as demanding, but he had always tried to avoid them. Families always make such bigger deals when disappearances concerned kids and less so when it was an adult. Still, Blaine could not walk away from this. _Not now._

Circling round the top of the aisle, Blaine began walking towards the boy at last. The brown-haired angel had not even noticed him when Blaine passed inches behind him, too lost in his apparent love a particular pair of shoes. Black, high top, _Cole Haan_ boots. Designer gear. Blaine hid a grin; not only was the boy likely to be gay, he also had taste. He could only assume the boy was put off by the price tag. At last Blaine's presence was felt: the boy suddenly looked up at him in surprise and his cheeks reddened when their eyes met. He smiled timidly and immediately put the boots back on the shelf. Blaine could tell his young Adonis was about to walk away so he quickly put on his friendliest and most unthreatening expression of admiration to match the look of longing the boy had with the shoes.

He whistled lowly. 'Those are something else.' He stated. The boy paused and looked back at him, surprised and curious. Blaine smiled at him. 'You like them?'

At first the young man seemed too shocked to speak, as if he was not used to people speaking to him. Finally he noticeably swallowed and stuttered out 'Yeah.' He glanced back at his dream shoes and quietly continued 'But it'll take a whole years worth of my allowance to afford them.

Humming in consideration, the older man picked up one boot and took many moments to examine the body and material. His prey just stood awkwardly, waiting and watching. At last, Blaine looked back at him. 'What's your name?'

'Oh, Kurt, sir,' The boy answered quickly with a humble tone. _Kurt... Not a name I would have chosen for him. Actually, it sort of suits him._

'Kurt, I want to buy them for you.' Blaine grinned.

Almost instantly, Kurt's expression changed from doe-eyed and nervous to downright suspicious. He took a small step back. 'And, uh, why would you do that?'

Blaine shrugged as if he was hiding absolutely nothing from the world. 'I guess I just like doing nice things for people.'

'Are you some kind of joker?' Kurt asked in pure seriousness, not fooled for a moment.

_Damn, I hate it when they're like this..._ Blaine's face fell to sorrow and he issued a deep sigh. Shaking his head, he muttered 'That's sad. It's a sad, sad world when a guy's motives are questioned and doubted when he just wants to do something kind for someone else.'

He didn't dare look up and ruin his self-pitying image but it seemed his effort was not in vain. 'Look, I'm sorry, I just...' The boy shuffled uneasily onto each foot as his guilt-ridden voice delivered his reason, 'my dad always taught me that nothing comes for free. So...I just want to know what's in it for you.'

'I get it, your dad just wants to prepare you for a bad world, I get it.' Blaine went on to sigh again, he played with the boot in his hands and then appeared considerate. 'Well...I guess if you wanted to do something in return-'

'I knew it.' Kurt cut in, looking irritated. It was kind of hot. 'I knew you wanted something.'

With that he readjusted his messenger bag on his shoulder and began walking away towards the back of the store. 'Hey – wait!' Blaine called. He hurriedly picked up the other shoe and went after him. Kurt pretended he wasn't listening but Blaine was not one to be ignored. He dodged up ahead of the teen and cornered him up between a stack of sneakers and a cage of footballs. 'Look – I still really want to buy you these shoes, okay?' He insisted, presenting the boots again to Kurt as a bargaining tool.

Kurt acted like he had no more interest in them but he did stare just a second too long for Blaine to be taken in by the falsity. 'And what would you want in return? Hmm?'

'Photos.' Blaine replied bluntly.

'Photos?'

Blaine nodded. 'I-I just thought...you would look kind of...sexy in them. It would be my pleasure to give them to you. And if you were okay with it – and _only_ if you were okay with it – would I ask to take just a few shots of you wearing them.'

Kurt looked stunned, then deeply embarrassed. He looked around as if someone might accidently overhear as he asked in a whisper 'Wait, do you mean..._nude_ photos?'

Wearing his most affronted expression, Blaine pulled back in alarm. 'What? No! No, absolutely not!' Kurt was still staring at him with wide eyes. 'Just photographs of you relaxed – maybe with a drink and watching television – wearing the shoes. Here, I'll show you some of the others I've taken.' His hand delved into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a few candid shots of his previous 'models'. He flicked through them slowly, letting a curious Kurt take a good look at them. Innocent in nature, the photographs certainly helped Blaine's case. 'I sell them. If they do well I always give the models a cut of the profits.' Kurt perked up at that thought. Blaine then winked subtly at him, playfully nudging him. 'And _trust me_, with legs like yours, your photos will sell. Then you could buy all the shoes you want.'

Kurt initially seemed dumbstruck by the strangers flirtatious wink but the blush that spread out across his adorable face told of interest, flattery and – _Thank God! _ - mutual attraction. Still not wanting to seem desperate, Kurt appeared to think it over carefully. Then he gave an awkward shrug and nodded vaguely. 'Okay...so where should we go?'

* * *

Blaine got his boy home. He had succeeded in similar stunts many times in the past but he had never felt such desire and excitement than he felt that particular evening. He watched with a small smile playing on his lips as Kurt continued to take in the apartment living room, from the aquarium by the window to his antique record player off in the corner. He then looked over to Blaine and shyly took a seat on the couch to wait for his host's instructions. Everything the boy did was endearing. He tucked hair behind his ear causing Blaine to imagine biting the newly exposed neck area. Kurt repositions himself on the cushion and Blaine licks his lips just thinking about straddling his hips, a hand keeping the boy's long and flawless throat pushed back against the headrest. Kurt smiled weakly at him and the gesture caused Blaine to get the ball rolling.

'I'm gonna grab a couple of sodas. Why don't you put on those new shoes, mmm?' Kurt nodded, reaching for the _Macy's_ bag. Blaine strolled to his kitchen and fetched two cans of Coke from his refrigerator. Next, two tall glasses were partly filled with ice and the soda was poured in after. Finally, out came the pills. Blaine used a spoon to crush them into a small mound of white powder which was sprinkled into one glass and then stirred until it dissolved in the drink. Keeping note of which one was which, Blaine returned to the living room and placed his own glass on one table before supplying Kurt's.

The teenager was admiring his boots so much that he almost didn't notice Blaine's return. With a gleeful grin, Kurt accepted his drink and motioned with his free hand to his feet. 'Aren't they great? They're so comfy too!' He took a long sip of his coke.

Blaine looked just as pleased as he was, nodding in agreement. 'They're perfect. You have a good eye for that kind of thing.' His eyes wandered up from the shoes to Kurt's slender legs. They looked nimble and smooth even through the fabric of his pants. Kurt saw the stare and immediately closed up again, embarrassed by the attention. Blaine had been nothing but a kind and relaxing gentleman with him but he was still in the stranger's home having only met him an hour before. Blaine forgave his guests nervous reaction to his obvious undressing gaze. 'Well, I guess we should get started, huh?' Blaine started brightly. He moved off to his bedroom to collect his camera which he left on his bedside table. The body lying on the far side of his mattress was exactly where he had left it that morning and Blaine simply threw his blanket over its bare ass in a bored motion of preserving decency. He returned to Kurt.

'So...do you want me to do anything?' Kurt asked. He was anxious enough to have drunk almost half of his drink by then and Blaine grew excited at that fact, but tried not to show it. 'Like...pose or something?'

Blaine prepared his camera and shook his head. 'No, just...just relax. Look around. Look at me – just do what feels natural.' Kurt swallowed and turned to face him. Blaine held up the camera from the far side of the room. The evening had grown dark by now so the only light came from the lamps dotted around them. Eventually, Kurt became too shy and turned his gaze down to his fidgeting hands.

_Click!_

Blaine focused the lens on him.

_Click!_

The shots of the teen timidly sipping at his coke were very telling and Blaine was thankful only he was ever going to enjoy looking at these snaps. Still...these were not the real shots he was after. He appeared sympathetic to his subjects discomfort , putting aside the camera and sitting on the opposite side of the couch. 'We don't have to start now, I guess. How about a little TV until you feel looser?' Kurt didn't object, so the television was switched on and the remote was slid into Kurt's palm.

Typical to teenagers everywhere, Kurt chose the cheesiest comedy sitcoms to watch in order to relax. Blaine did not typically use his television set so did not know any of the programmes that distracted his boy from the situation. Still, the fact he was distracted was what really mattered. The small smile playing on his lips just would not let up. He stared, unabashedly admiring his new treasure and drawing ever closer to him. Waiting. Just waiting. The signs would show soon, he knew. Kurt had sipped the last of his soda about ten minutes before Blaine caught sight of the first clue. The brown-haired head fell back on its own accord, as if Kurt had momentarily fallen asleep and then startled awake again, but that was not due to sleep. Kurt's brows furrowed in confusion and he pulled himself up into a better seated position. More minutes passed. His eyes began to lose focus. He was blinking more, lids pressing against one another harder than usual trying to clear away the dizzy spells overcoming him. Blaine's smile dissolved into a smirk. He started to softly hum a song, bringing his fingers up behind Kurt's head to lazily delve his fingertips into his locks. Kurt gave a delayed flinch but otherwise did not react. As Blaine expected, his hair was featherlike to the touch and strands twisted around Blaine's knuckles against their will. He leaned in closer and examined Kurt's cheekbones. He wanted to stroke his cheeks but as he went to do so Kurt vaguely shook his head and turned away to look around the room again. This time, Kurt seemed unable to take anything in. By the time his eyes landed on Blaine, who had somehow moved incredibly close without his knowing, he squinted and blinked hard again.

Blaine stood up again, forcing himself away in order to snatch up his camera again.

_Click! Click! Click! Click!_

The camera snapped up shots of Kurt greedily by its owners hand. After throwing away his own t shirt, Blaine stalked around the room taking photographs from all directions and every angle, all the while gently palming himself through his pants as he enjoyed his toy draining of energy. He caught Kurt trying to change channel but his thumbs wouldn't work. Kurt, though, seemed only puzzled by his sloppy movements and didn't seem to possess the ability to be actually worried. Dazed and confused, unable to act. His host strolled behind the couch and stopped short directly behind the teen's swaying head. Lazily, Blaine drew a finger to Kurt's forehead and lightly tilted it back. Without much encouragement, Kurt's head fell back giving him a view of his whole face. Crystal blue eyes stared up into darkening hazel ones. Hands pressed against Kurt's cheeks as the older man lowered his lips and his voice to a seductive murmur. 'Kurt, could I take off your shirt? For some...overhead shots?'

It wouldn't have been surprising if Kurt hadn't really understood the request, but nevertheless he responded in a small, childlike voice 'Sure,'

The camera was settled down, then hands reached down to untuck Kurt's shirt from his pants. His fingers deftly flicked with deliberate slowness. With the little focus he still had, Kurt watched Blaine's face with vague wonder. The article of clothing was peeled off and dragged up and over his head then abandoned on the floor. Kurt's arms had been forcibly raised in the process and instantly dropped as if lifeless by his sides. The older man's hands ran up and down his creamy smooth chest, easing along his shoulders and massaging Kurt into a deeper daze. Kurt could barely keep his eyes open by the time Blaine circled him and bent down in front of his knees.

'You were right, Kurt,' Blaine coaxed Kurt's legs apart and shuffled closer so both his hands and his mouth could graze up his still-covered thighs. 'Those shoes are really beautiful...' Kurt's eyelids at last closed over and his head slumped over onto his shoulder. Blaine allowed him to slowly droop over until he was half-lying on the couch. Blaine's smirk widened and he lazily picked up one leg to yank off the boot on its foot. 'Look so good on you.' He dropped the leg with little care and picked up the other to do the same. The second boot thudded to the floor. 'But I think you could look better with less.'

* * *

Blaine must have lay with Kurt's unconscious frame for over an hour just doing nothing. Occasionally he would rearrange their bodies so that he was lying on Kurt's chest, then visa-versa. The faint heartbeat could have been his lullaby; his eyelids softly closing as if to beckon the glowing prospect of sleep. But there would be time for that later.

At last Blaine eased himself out of Kurt's limp arms and lay the body down flat on the couch, head propped up slightly by a single cushion. He disappeared from the room only to return moments later with his tool kit. Inside was an array of objects and various DIY equipment, but the one he selected was the biggest: an handheld power drill. He held the long thin body of the shank up to his eyeline and examined the point: as sharp as the day he purchased it. He gave it a few test revs and approved of its shrill sound and rapid drilling movements. His eyes flickered down towards Kurt.

Brown chestnut locks were smoothed apart as well as possible to expose a tiny area where the scalp could be seen just beside the right temple. After shifting himself closer, Blaine pressed his fingers hard to keep the hair out the way and the head steady. He started the drill, slowly bringing it closer to the spot on his victim's head.

Kurt did not even stir. Blaine was careful not to be too distracted by the beauty's unconscious adherence to his wishes. _Don't wake up, gorgeous. Don't open those eyes. If you do...you'll feel the pain. I don't want you to feel pain, beautiful I want you to feel nothing...but me._ Kurt's delicate lids remained still and not even a hint of a twitch disturbed his features as Blaine penetrated his head further. Blaine knew when to stop: First the blood, then the tissue, next the bone, at last the muscles and nerves. Jackpot. When he felt the drill easing up after the bone, he gently pulled the drill out and settled it on the ground. Job done. He pressed a kiss to Kurt's forehead as his fingers gingerly stroked the small circular wound. Blood came away with his fingertips but not as much as usual; he must have been extra careful tonight. _Good, I need to take extra special care of him if I want him to last._

'You belong with me, now.' Blaine whispered into Kurt's deaf ear. He then kicked off his own shoes and dug his powerful arms under Kurt's body, hoisting him up to be carried to the bedroom.

* * *

'Excuse me,'

The voice came as such a surprise that Blaine nearly stumbled off his chair. He turned away from the window he was staring out of to look at the visitors who had entered the gallery without his notice. It was a man holding the hand of a small boy. The small boy, in turn, was clutching at his crotch in obvious discomfort. Blaine smiled. 'Sorry, I was miles away – how can I help you?'

The man motioned towards the child. 'I gotta live one here.' He replied gruffly, 'You gotta restroom he can use? This is a public building, yeah?'

Blaine stood up and smoothed his hands against his pants, his glasses (which he didn't need but certainly helped him look like the guiltless librarian type he was going for) jotting down from his nose requiring him to push them up again. He pointed over to the door at the other side of the long room. 'Just that single toilet stall. He's free to use that.'

The man tossed him an appreciative look and began urging the boy in the other direction. 'Go on, son, I'll wait here. Don't be long, now, your mom is waiting in the car.' The boy awkwardly waddled off and Blaine sat back down behind his desk which was bare except from the day's newspaper he had been looking through earlier. The gentleman turned back to him and looked like he might just wait there politely in silence – until he caught sight of the headline on the front page. 'Some sorry case we have in this town, huh?' He shook his head, before reading the headline aloud. '_Teenage Boy Suspected Kidnapping. _This has to be – what? – the fourth kid this month?'

Blaine looked down at the newspaper as if only just noticing it. 'Oh?' He picked it up and made a point of looking at the photo taking up easily half of the page. _Kurt Hummel, 17, local high school student. _Blaine shook his head in sad disbelief. 'Incredible to think this happening in our own backyards. Terrifying.'

The man eyed him seriously. 'You'd best be careful,' he warned, 'From what I recall the second fella gone off the grid was twenty-five. If there's some crazy loose in the city he's looking for guys your age.'

Blaine swallowed and steeled his hardened gaze downwards. 'Don't worry about me, sir, I take care of myself.'

But the well-meaning gent was not deterred. He reached over and firmly took hold of Blaine's shoulder and the younger man looked up in hidden anger. 'Don't be so cock-sure, my boy! This kid – Kurt – he was a straight-A student. A smart one. According to his dad he wouldn't have wandered off into danger which means whoever got him probably did it somewhere the kid thought was safe!'

The small boy was returning now, looking greatly relieved and mildly bored having spent a few seconds walking by paintings that had no connection to his cartoons or comic books. He reached his father and tugged on his hand. Blaine nodded. 'You're absolutely right,' He agreed. 'I will be careful, more so than I normally am until police find out who's behind this.'

The man seemed satisfied with that response and cleared his throat proudly. _Probably thinks he's saved my life or something..._ He and his son strolled out of the gallery leaving it empty and peaceful again. Blaine watched the exit door long after it had closed behind them, glaring at it though unsure why. He turned back to the window but not before taking the newspaper into his hands. He stared at Kurt's photo taken at what seemed to be a family wedding, though no one else made it into the edited frame. _Such a smile... Could melt the hearts of stone-cold killers. _He leaned back in his chair, a vague grin easing out across his face as he mused: _With a smile like that, he was asking for it._

* * *

There were times Blaine was well and truly grateful he had no neighbours on the other side of his bedroom wall in the next apartment. That night was one of those times. Unable to control himself, he pummelled into the body beneath him with sweat seeming to pour off him and mix with the glistening perspiration of the still-unconscious Kurt. He growled in frustration as one of the legs he had propped up on his shoulders slipped off. That was the trouble with unresponsive bodies; no matter how incredible fucking them could feel, their limp limbs sometimes did not behave.

Blaine readjusted himself and Kurt, choosing instead to simply force the legs back, knees on mattress, and leaning on him for leverage. Such a position was potentially very painful for the one being fucked but, as Blaine had to remind himself, Kurt wasn't supposed to be _able_ to feel pain anymore. He couldn't know for sure, though, until Kurt woke up but that was unlikely to happen tonight. For now, he'd risk hurting his sleeping beauty for the sake of the mind-blowing orgasm he was just moments away from achieving.

_I'm so lucky I found you. God, baby, you are wonderful. So...tight, so hot, s-so right!_ His panting began wildly erratic and stars shot across his vision lighting up like fireworks. He came hard into the little pocket of Kurt's body that was only ever going to be touched by him. This ass was his, he knew. Those lips he was now kissing with furious passion were reserved only for his mouth, his skin and his cock. He wrapped his arms around the slim waist and pressed into him further as if willing their bodies to merge into one. There, he closed his eyes and waited, dazed, for his self control to come back to him. The body which had last taken up room on his bed was now in the tub in his tiny private bathroom adjoined to his bedroom. A twenty-two year old named 'Hunter' who had sealed his own fate when grinding into Blaine's hips in a nightclub a week and a half ago. Hunter hadn't lasted very long but that was due to his waking up during the drilling process. Blaine had given him enough drugs to take down an elephant but the young man must have taken so many drugs in the past he became somewhat immune to the extra-strong dosage. Surprisingly, he hadn't started to smell yet but Blaine knew he'd have to dispose of him sooner rather than later. Dispose of them like he had had to dispose of the others. Twenty nine, in all. Twenty seven within the last couple of years and two when he had been an inexperienced teenager himself. Those who had not survived the drilling process usually died via some other freak accident. Using Kurt as a security blanket to fight off the memories. He sniffed into Kurt's neck. _The others...they left me. They weren't strong enough or they refused to stay alive for me, but you...you'll fight. You'll stay, won't you? I know you will. You're perfect; made just for me. _Kurt's slow but steady pulse purred at him and instantly he felt better. And in need of a stiff drink or two.

* * *

Everything was such a mess. Nothing made sense and nothing had any shape or form to it; all he could see was misty white, darkened by an absence of light. The world swivelled around him even when he lay still, eyes open.

_Get up._

Groggily, he tensed one part of his body but other than feeling a faint cluster of pain nothing happened. Where was he?

_Get up!_

A low moan escaped his lips, the sound of the voice in his head startling him up and suddenly he was on a floor. Unbeknownst to him, he was only wearing underwear and that underwear was not only clumsily put on but also backwards on his body. Such a trivial issue, though, would not have concerned him at that exact moment. While his mind tried to make sense of the blurriness, his legs wobbled straight and his feet succeeded in standing him up. The moment he was upright, he lost balance and half-deliberately stumbled into the shape of a door. The door was slammed open and he crashed onto the floor of this new room. A bathroom. Okay, now something made sense to him. He saw things. Objects that belonged in a bathroom yet he could not remember their names. He clawed up on the wall back onto his feet and held himself against it until he could manoeuvre himself around to look at the big water-holder that bathrooms have – the type you get into to wash – and was alarmed to see it was occupied.

Though filled with pure terror, the moan Kurt released was slow and queasy. He turned away from those eyes peering blindly back at him – skin not a normal colour and lips undefined against the paleness – and threw himself back into the room he came from. Who was that? What was it doing? Another fleeting moment of clarity hit and he understood the young man in the tub was dead. In near-hysteria, he bumped himself along the wall of this room – a bedroom? – and he stopped at a second door.

The following minutes were spent collapsing against various objects and pieces of furniture in rooms and halls he could not get clear in his spinning head. When he finally fell out yet another door and felt his skin react to a sudden drop in temperature, Kurt grew even more scared but also determined. He was going the right way. He took one last look behind him into the room he just came from: a living room. A burst of colour hit him hard in the form of another memory: _Blaine_. That was his name, the person who led him here. Flashes...photographs. Kurt couldn't remember anything else but a throbbing pain taking over his mind was more than enough to force him away. He fell back and then was lost in the air for an undefined period of time. Then he hit something. Stairs. Then the ground. He opened his eyes and saw streetlights. It was dark, and he was alone.

_I need to get away... I need to get help..._

He perhaps stumbled as far as thirty feet before blacking out in the middle of an alleyway.

The world came in and out of focus several times, each time Kurt was unable to grasp hold of it and fell back into his dark mental state. It was not until he heard voices did he make one final effort – a 'big push' – to break back into the realm of consciousness. He heard the voices come closer and he grew deeply afraid. Then he realised they were sounds of females, no, girls. He opened his eyes and his blurry, ever spinning vision came back. Through all the smog and disorientation he saw two faces; one was of a black girl with chocolate brown eyes, the other an Asian girl with never-ending long black hair. They were crouching over him. Despite still being unaware of their intentions, Kurt opened his mouth and fought to speak. At last, one word was uttered: _help_.

* * *

The shop clerk rang up Blaine's bill with no emotion in his elderly face. 'Eighteen forty-six.'

Blaine handed him a twenty after filling his brown paper bag with the cans of beer and various other items. 'Thanks-' He quickly read the name tag of the clerk. 'Christopher.' Christopher the shop keeper did not react at all and simply pressed buttons around the till and forked out change. The change went from the till to Blaine's hand to the little charity collection box placed on top of the counter. 'Every little helps, huh?' Blaine smiled, but the clerk walked away to re-arrange the cigarette packets. With his smile faltering, the young man picked up his groceries and left the store. The evening was still slightly warm but a cool breeze cutting around the corner made him grateful he took his jacket. He turned and began walking towards home.

In any other neighbourhood Blaine might have thought twice about using alleyways at night but there was an element of safety being regarded as the guy who would help you move furniture in and out of your home, pet your dog and donate to any cause that came to his door. People didn't really know him by name but his car was one of the few parked out on the main car lot that had never been vandalised. Still, he considered venturing up to the main street even just for a change of pace but as he went to do so he caught flashing lights of a cop car up ahead between Jensen Place and Lincoln Avenue. His heart beat harder and faster as he approached and then seemed to stop beating altogether when he saw that within the small group of people gathered in this particular alley was a boy he had believed to still be safely in his bed.

Two police officers were trying to settle down a dark skinned girl with a loud voice as a thinner Asian girl wrapped a police blanket around the small shivering and practically naked frame of the boy they had found. Kurt's eyes were unfocused and his mouth didn't seem to be able to produce anything other than vague sounds. His fingers looked like they might have been trying to reach for the blanket around him but all they succeeded in doing was tangling in the Asian girl's hair.

'What the hell do you mean?' The black girl snapped at the tiring officer who appeared to be in charge.

'He's drunk as a skunk; what do you expect me to do besides take him home?'

The girl put her hands on her hips and replied in a deliberately slow and agrivated tone 'Take. Him. To. A hospital.'

Blaine forced himself out of the spine-tingling horrified stupor he had been in and came forward. 'Hey,' he said softly, his eyes wide in vague surprise as if he was taking it all in for the first time. 'What's going on?'

The black girl narrowed her eyes at him, irritated by his intrusion as she was trying to get her point across, and the officer held up a hand to stop Blaine coming much closer. 'Sir, please move along. We're taking care of this. A drunk on the street.'

'He's not drunk!' The girl cried out angrily.

Blaine knelt down immediately and studied Kurt with deep concern. 'Yeah, he is. I'm sorry, officers, I'm a friend of his. It's my fault he stumbled himself out onto the street. Don't worry, I got him.' The Asian girl was reluctant to let Kurt go even when Blaine gently prised him from her arms. Kurt fell forward and his forehead landed on Blaine's shoulder.

The officer frowned. 'You know him?'

'Yessir.' Blaine replied, hoisting Kurt up and putting the boy's limp arm around his neck to help Blaine support him at his side. He quickly thought for a random name and the clerk's tag sprung to him. 'Christopher, his name is Christopher. We were drinking and I went out to get some more beer. I had no idea he drank so much. I'll get him back home straight away,'

At hearing Blaine's voice so close to him, Kurt groggily swung his head around and gazed up at the new person holding him. He stared in dazed confusion for many long moments before some form of recognition flickered across those glassy blue orbs. Immediately he moaned and his waist twisted around. Blaine had to grip Kurt's side tightly to avoid dropping him. Kurt now whined and his limp limbs stirred a little.

'Oh, hell to the _no_!' The black girl bellowed. She tried to forcibly take the half-naked boy back but Blaine cradled Kurt closer. Knowing she couldn't fight for him without risking Kurt falling and hitting his vulnerable head on the concrete ground, she whirled round to the police and pointed an accusing finger towards Blaine. 'Did you see the way he looked at him? He doesn't want to go with this guy!'

The officer was growing impatient. 'What's your name again?'

'Mercedes Jones.' The girl said with sudden properness and dignity.

'Yeah, well, Mercedes Jones, I'd like you to kindly head on home,' The officer stated bluntly, causing the girl to balk and her mouth to drop. 'We've got a handle on this.'

'I- You-!' Mercedes Jones stuttered out in anger, 'You have a handle on nothin'. This boy needs a hospital.' She threw Blaine a sneer as her eyes gave him a disapproving up-and-down look over. 'And this guy needs to leave the kid alone.'

'Please ma'am,' Blaine replied meekly. He readjusted Kurt's head so it was carefully tucked under his chin. 'Christopher just needs to sleep it off. He doesn't tolerate alcohol as well as he thinks he does.'

'The boy half-naked-!'

'Get outta here before I put you under arrest!' The officer snarled at once. He looked red in the face, his mind obviously developed its own reasons for why the young man apparently got drunk with a male 'friend' and took his clothes off. He did not seem to want to delve any further than the brief story he had and just wanted to move on to less queer disturbances. The black girl continued to argue but, as the policemen approached her reaching for their cuffs, she grudgingly backed off. The Asian girl who had been hovering by Kurt's shoulder gave the boy in Blaine's arms a regretful glance and took a few steps back as well. She took her friend by the arm and together they moved up the alley, all the while Mercedes shouted various statements of condemnation. The officer ignored them, instead turning to Blaine with his mouth in a very thin, straight line. 'We'll be escorting you back to your home.' He declared, though it was evident through his eyes that he certainly did not want to.

* * *

In all the time Blaine lived in his apartment, never before had his visitors numbered more than two at a time. In fact, rarely was there ever more than Blaine and one guest. Now, though, there were three other people in his living room and he felt it was unnecessarily crowded even in a spacious area such as this. He sat cross-legged, relaxed, in his antique armchair by the TV. Across from him, Kurt sat unconscious yet again on the couch, the blanket still wrapped around most of his body and his head drooped over the back of the headrest. One officer stood in the middle of the floor between them both, his hands firmly on his waist and his chest puffed out in what was probably an attempt at intimidation.

But Blaine was not necessarily scared of him – he was a porky man who no doubt moved at half of Blaine's speed – but he might have admitted some fear of the second, far more lean officer who was snooping around his kitchen area. There was nothing incriminating there, he knew, but if the officer extended his investigation to his bedroom...and then his private bathroom... Blaine's face masked any element of worry, though, as it typically did when he was so close to danger. To the world he had nothing to hide.

'So what were you two doing before this one decided to go wandering around close to naked?' The porky officer asked gruffly.

Blaine shrugged and considered the question for a moment. 'Nothing much. Watching a little TV, drinking-'

'Oh we know you've been drinking,' The officer interrupted, his tone sharp and oddly judgmental. He glanced to Blaine's grocery bag of alcohol and then to Kurt's vacant face and bare body. It didn't take much to guess what else he thought they had been doing. 'My question is: are you gonna drink any more tonight?'

Blaine shook his head and sighed tiredly. 'No, sir. I'm going to put Christopher here to bed and then I'm gonna watch a documentary I recorded last night.' The lie came so easily Blaine did not hesitate once. The officer stared him down and Blaine knew the drill: he bowed his head in apparent shame. _Oh yes, shame on us queers for getting drunk and exposing ourselves, officer. We are, quite literally, the Devil's work._ Blaine tried not to show his laboured breathing as the second officer drew closer to his bedroom door and reached out to push it open.

But his comrade had decided he had spent enough time in this queer apartment and suddenly said 'Alright.' Together the officers slowly made their way to the front door and Blaine hurried after them to politely open their way. The leaner of the two left and could be heard walking down the steps towards the street, but the other entered again to hold a warning finger up to Blaine's face. 'I won't report you this time, chump,' he told him, 'but if I come across the two of you again I'll be hauling you in.'

'You don't have to worry about that, sir.' Blaine nodded in understanding. He backed away towards the couch and reached back to pat Kurt's head lightly. 'We're gonna...we're gonna behave ourselves.' He then smiled sweetly. It was a risk as it was an antagonising expression to someone already riled, but luckily for him the officer merely sneered and closed the door behind him.

Blaine froze and listened to the retreating footsteps. He held his breath for a full ten seconds after the air fell into silence and then he quickly strode over to the door and locked it. His forehead rested against the wooden frame. He had no idea his heart had been pounding so hard these past twenty minutes. He was no stranger to close-calls but tonight had been far too close for him to handle. He swallowed hard, then turned to glare at the back of Kurt's head. With bitterness and venom he circled the couch and stood in front of the boy, who was somewhere close to consciousness but hadn't broken through the surface yet. He watched his head loll back and forth, the quietest of sighs escaping his lips.

Hands shaking in anger, Blaine roughly straddled him. The sudden weight on his thighs and hips caused Kurt to barely open his eyes and stare up. There was no emotion in those eyes, just pools of crystal blue. Not even their beauty could waver the fury which pulsed through Blaine's veins. His lip turning up into a sneer, Blaine brought his hands to Kurt's slender neck and fingers wrapped around tightly. Kurt's eyes jolted back into focus and he looked up in surprise, his mouth falling open. Blaine bit on the inside of his bottom lip, his hands shaking as they squeezed harder and harder, practically crushing the seventeen year olds windpipe in the process. His arms tensed violently and suddenly he was thrusting Kurt back onto the couch, yanking him forward and slamming him back again. Blaine let out a guttered gasp, letting all his anger flow out of him through his murderous hands. He couldn't stop.

_How could you? How could you do that to me? You promised me you wouldn't leave – you were supposed to be different! _

Kurt could not move to protect himself, unable to even struggle, and it did not take long for his eyes to roll back into his head.

_All I wanted was to have someone to lie next to, to love and to admire but they kept on leaving me! I-I hate it when they leave. I hate it when there's nothing left. They know how they make me feel. You're perfect; you're supposed to be different. You can't leave me and you know it!_

With new sweat dripping from his forehead, Blaine panted and forced his hands away from the neck. Kurt lay motionless. His chest was not moving. For a few long moments Blaine did not move, instead he just sat on the boy's hips and stared in frightened awe at what he just did. The air was too quiet and far to still. It was back to being just him again.

_No- No, not again! I can't be alone! Not now, not after having you Kurt, please-!_

His fingers pinching Kurt's nostrils shut and his lips locking over his, air from Blaine's lungs charging out and into the dead boy he could not live without. He gave as much as he could then pulled back for another intake of air which he quickly shared again. Kurt did not react. Tears of blind panic were forming now in Blaine's eyes and for the first time in his life he could not see anything beyond failure. The thought scared him and he knew he _had_ to wake his beauty up. Another deep breath, then another, then another, then-

A strangled gasp for oxygen erupted from Kurt's open mouth and his eyes clenched together in strain. The boy coughed violently a few times and then took to breathing in hoarsely. Blaine did far more damage to his throat than he knew, but Blaine did not care: the older man instantly clutched the boy close to him, fingers digging into skin with such frightened passion that he might lose him again. Feverish kisses pressed into sweaty chestnut brown locks. Desperation flooded through both bodies like electric currents. Kurt passed out again after the briefest of periods, but Blaine was lost in his own turmoil. He hated it when he was alone. Being alone was something he was growing to fear. He fell onto the couch and brought Kurt closer to cradle him against his chest.

_You left me. You left me but you came back. I brought you back. I'm not ready to lose you yet, Kurt. You're irreplaceable. You aren't like the others, Kurt, they all left. Don't be like them, baby, please. They keep trying to leave me. Don't try to leave me. Not until I'm finished with you._

* * *

A.N. Aaaaand done! Hope you liked it, though it's probably a little different to my usual. Please leave a comment or PM with your thoughts and requests!


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